Learning to Breathe Again
by Arieanna
Summary: After Wesley is shunned by his AI family in the aftermath of Connor’s disappearance, he is completely alone. Or is he? Faith returns, wanting to make amends.
1. One Breath at a Time

Author: Arieanna  
Rating: I'm going with a PG-13 for this chapter, but it is going to heat up later.   
Pairings: Wesley/Faith (of course), Fred/Gunn, and eventually Angel/Cordy  
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. They belong to that God that is Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, 20th Century Fox, a bunch of others that aren't me, and the wonderful actors that portray them every week. If they belonged to me, I'd be rich, and I'd surf all day. I just wanted to borrow them and let them have some fun.   
Spoilers: This is up to the episode "Double or Nothing", and then I go off into my own little play land.  
Distribution: If you like it enough to put it on your site, go for it. Just let me know where it will be, please.  
Summary: After Wes is shunned by his AI family in the aftermath of Connor's disappearance, he is completely alone. Or is he? His rogue slayer returns, wanting to make amends.  
My Notes: Well, someone on the board asked who you would like most to return to the show, and I always wanted Faith to return. And I wondered, what happens when a watcher and a slayer go from teacher/student to something more. This is my first fanfic, so be gentle with me!   
Reviews: Feel free to state your opinion. If it is criticism, make it intelligent. But not flamy! 

One Breath at a Time

******************

With a sharp exhale of breath, she blew a stray curl out of her face.

She hated the curls. They were girly, pretty. Everything she wasn't. That's why she fought so hard to tame them. Tried to banish them. But it didn't always work. A little moisture, and there they were. Like most things in her life, she couldn't will or wish them away.

But for today, she had encouraged them. Because they ere girly, because they softened her. The slick lawyer had told her it would help. The slick lawyer had told her a lot of things. Except why he had helped. She was pretty sure it had to do with screwing somebody over. But she didn't really care. She had wanted to make amends, and she didn't think that she had been making any progress where she was. So, when the lawyer had come to her, she had just gone with it.

When she had looked into the hammered piece of tin that she called a mirror that was secured to the wall across from her cot, she had had second thoughts about the hair. But she had done it. Because the lawyer had said so.

And he must have known, because she was standing there, wasn't she? Standing outside, with the wind blowing her damned dark curls around her face. And there were no chain link prison fences in sight.

She felt like a fraud, standing on the courthouse steps in a skirt suit, with the dark curls softly framing her face. But she was free. And now she could make amends. She could start on the path of her redemption.

"Faith?"

She turned towards the slick lawyer, watched as he ran his right hand through his hair. He did that a lot. Did things with his hands. Faith thought about that Not hands. Hand. The right one. Almost like it was new, and he was still savoring that newness. Overused, in the way one would play a new CD non-stop for the first little while. Until the novelty wore off. She thought it strange. But there were strange things about her too. And he never brought them up. So she never voiced her curiosity about the hand.

"Yes Lindsay?"

"Did you need a ride somewhere?" He looked sincere, and Faith once again wondered at his motives. Wondered, but didn't ask. Everyone had their secrets. She certainly had hers. And she didn't want Lindsay to know them. That's why she wouldn't take the ride. Where she was going was part of her secret, and part of her redemption. And Lindsay wasn't a part of that.

"No thanks." The brunette nodded to the backpack at her feet. "It's not like I have a lot to carry." She chuckled. It came out rough, and cynical. She'd have to work on that. "Besides, I'm sure you have better places to be." She took a deep breath, wondered how to say what she had to say next." I don't know why you did this for me." She held up a hand to keep him from answering. "And I'm pretty sure I don't want to know. But thanks."

She shook his hand, having noticed that he enjoyed that, and swung her backpack to her shoulder. "See ya, Lindsey."

"No offence, Faith, but if you're going where I think you're going, I don't think I want too."

She laughed at that. And although it came out rusty with disuse, it actually sounded genuine. And she smiled a small smile, leaving the lawyer standing there on the steps.

Lindsay stood and watched. He watched her go. If things worked out as foretold, she would both clear his debt, and be his payback. 

*          *          *          *          *

"Charles?"

"Hmm?" The tall man raised dark head from the suitcase he was packing to look across the bed at his girlfriend. He felt awkward, standing there, in Wes's apartment, Packing Wes's clothes.

And he was angry, although he didn't let her see it. They were taking time out of the perfect day that he had planned, the day that Cordelia gave them off, to do this. For Wes. Wes had betrayed them. And Fred was still sticking up for him. He wanted to do this as quickly as possible.

He looked at Fred, and that just made things worse. Gunn was sure that Wes had pictured Fred in his bedroom. And Gunn figured that it hadn't been in this context.

Fred was looking at the book on the bookstand. 

"Should we bring him something to read? But maybe he won't have time. They might check him out soon." She shook her head. "No. Books are a bad idea. It'd make him think of work, and work would make him think of Angel. And he should just rest, and get better. No, no books." She turned slightly, picking up a CD case. "Maybe music?"

She was so sweet, his Fred. Constantly trying to make things better for others. Even this. But Gunn was little concerned. She seemed to be trying too hard with the watcher. Did she feel something more for friendship then this man? This man, whose name no one else was even speaking? Gunn hoped not, especially considering what he had to do today to keep her safe. She looked up from the bag they had finished packing, and smiled. Gunn decided he didn't care how she felt about Wesley. She had chosen him, and that was all that mattered.

*          *          *          *          *

The door to his apartment was slightly opened, almost as if somebody had pushed it closed behind them and the latch hadn't caught. She should knock. Faith was fairly certain that if she knocked, the door would swing inward. But she decided to knock anyway. She wasn't the break and enter kind of girl. At least she was trying not to be. 

Faith raised her hand to knock. That's when she heard the voices. Her hand came to rest on the door, and it swung open further. And the voices became clear. Two voices, male and female. Maybe she had the wrong apartment. But that's when she heard the words.

"Do you think Angel will ever forgive him?' The voice was feminine. Light, with the soft drawl of a southern accent, not Cordelia.

"I'm sure he will sweetie, it just might take a hundred years." Husky, tough, like the street kid that Faith had been. Faith was tempted to stick her head around the doorframe to see him. The muscles under her skin, over her muscled, twitched with it. With the urge to throw open the door, and leap in headfirst. But she fought it. Instead she listened to the little voice in her head that told her to get a handle on the situation, before she went in with guns blazing. Strangely enough, that little voice sounded a lot like Wesley. It sounded more like him with his every visit, his every phone call. Another one of Faith's secrets. She had seen Wesley since, well since "the incident", as he had taken to referring to it.

*          *          *          *          *

She didn't know what has prompted that first visit. When they has led her to the seat behind the glass, the mockery of a visiting room, she had been expecting Angel.

Truth be told, Faith hadn't been expecting anyone. Ever. Prison had a way of robbing you of expectations. And Faith had had very few to begin with.

When they came in that first time and led her to the visitor's room, trudged her  down the hall in that ugly orange jumpsuit, she had thought that it was Angel again. She really hadn't expected him to ever come back. But he had said he'd keep in touch. She had wanted to know how Wesley was holding up. What she had done to her watcher was one of her biggest regrets.

But when the guard had led her over, had pushed her down into that chair with what seemed like the force of the world, the face staring back at her from the other side of the marred plexiglass wasn't the vampire. It was the watcher. 

The face of her greatest shame.

Sure, she had killed a man. But that had been a slaying accident. And there were other things. But nothing so heinous as torturing the one person in the world that she was meant to learn from. To grow with.

Sure, he had turned her into the council. But prison left you with a lot of time to ponder, and Faith had come to the conclusion that Wes had done it for her. To make things right. To keep her safe. That's the kind of man he was.

She had no idea why he had come. And even less of a grasp about why her heart had expanded and had seemed to beat for the first time in months at the sight of the forgiveness in the eyes behind those respectable British spectacles.

How could he forgive her? And why did it matter so much?

She never really knew why he had come that first time. He seemed to be dealing with something that had been deeply buried. Something in his own self that he had to overcome.

He told her he forgave her, and something seemed to lift off of his shoulders. Just a little, but noticeable enough.

When he got up to leave, she was sure he had gotten whatever it was he had come for., and she was pretty sure that he would never come back.

Faith would never know what it was that had made her speak. Would she someday discover what that was, that ache that had welled up in her heart, that had forced the words past the sudden constriction in her throat? Words that she has never had had any intentions of thinking, let alone saying. Words that had leaked past her lips, escaped without volition. Words soaked in a voice filled with tears, and a lost child's re-found hope.

"Would you be my watcher again?"

The words had stopped him in his tracks, had forced his eyes back to the glass. Had made him meet the stare of an oh so lost slayer. And that's when it began. With occasional visits, weekly phone calls, Wesley had become her watcher again. And the slow evolution began. The transformation into the person that she was trying to become. A person with strength. Not just of body, but of mind, and of heart as well. A person who accepted who and what she was. Who was willing to give her life to her destiny.

That's why she was standing outside of Wesley's apartment, instead of on the nearest steamer to Canada. She wanted to be his slayer again.. She was his slayer again. Someday she would have to ask him why he said yes.

So she was at his place to report to her watcher. And it was his words that ran through her head as she stood there listening to the voices.  "_Sometimes using your mind is more important than using your fists."_

She needed to know what was going on. Questions ran through her head as fast as a freight train, with the same force behind them._ Who are these people? Where was Wesley, Why were they there when Wesley was not?_

Faith recalled her watcher telling her that they had new employees at Angel Investigations since she had been there. And a new office, in a hotel. And that Angel had flaked for a while, and that Wesley was the boss. So, were these them, the new employees?  They knew Angel, and Wesley, obviously, since they were in his apartment without him.

Why would Angel need to forgive Wesley? Faith needed answers, and she intended to get them, without her fists.

She searched her mind, through all of the new knowledge Wesley had been trying to fill her with.  She fumbled for their names as she pushed open the door, knowing that Wes had told her. 

They had come to her when she stepped into the living room, and she had to fight to retain them as she heard the women's next words.

"We should get back to the hospital."

Hospital? By this time, the pair was fully in Faith's field of vision.  Hospital? The word through her mind, burned like acid. That didn't mean it was Wesley. Then she caught sight of the bag clutched in the hand of the tall black man. And her heart stopped. Her brain nearly shut off. But she forced it to attention. The man, Gunn, she remembered, he had a bag. For the hospital. Full of Wesley's things. So he wasn't dead, anyway.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt, but did you say hospital?" Faith asked, as she tried very hard not to stutter. Thinking instead of fighting was much harder the n Wesley had made it out to be. She'd have to tell him that, when she saw him. But to see him, she would have to find him.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Charles, hush," said the woman. Fred, Faith remembered. Wes had always gotten a certain look on his face when he mentioned her. Faith had figured that Wes was dating her, or wanted to. But as the slayer looked at the restraining hand that Fred had laid on Gunn's arm, it was obvious they were a couple. And she wondered how Wesley felt about that. And if he hurt, Faith would hate these people for that. And she didn't know why.

"I know that I came in uninvited, but the door was sort of opened." She brushed a curl out of her eyes, and remembered she was still wearing her disguise for the court. She quickly made a decision. These people didn't know who she was. If they worked for Angel, and Wes was I some kind of trouble with the vampire, then maybe they shouldn't know.

"I'm Wesley's, um, cousin." She would have to stop stuttering. Liar's stuttered. It wasn't a great start, but it wasn't violent either. It'd do. "Sarah. Sarah Pryce." Faith decided that she'd never be able to pull off the stuffy British name. But Pryce was part of it, and believable for an American relation whose branch of the family had shortened the last name. Her heart thudded against her chest like a cadged beast. It wanted to get out and fight. But she wanted to be good, wanted to try it Wes's way.

"Did I hear you folks say hospital?" Faith cringed. She never used the words folks. She must have been trying too hard.

"Oh, um,' the other woman stammered. "Hi. Sorry, I'm Fred, and this is Charles." He glared at her. "Gunn, Charles Gunn. Everyone just calls him Gunn though. Did Wesley know you were coming? He didn't say anything. Then again, he can't talk . . ."

Faith cut her off with a sharp look and an upheld hand. It was almost as effective as slamming her against the wall, which was what Faith would have normally done. The severe look was not a bad technique, but Faith doubted that it would have the same affect on vampires. But she was learning that you generally didn't have to be as rough with people as you had to be with the undead.

"Can't talk? And did you say hospital?"

Fred looked like she was going to speak again, but Gunn beat her to it.

"Yeah, Wes got um, attacked a couple of nights ago." The man seemed to picking his words very carefully, trying to keep it as normal as possible. It seemed as if it was something to do with work, and Gunn had no idea how much "Sarah" knew about Wesley's work. Gunn would be shocked to learn just how involved "Sarah" was in the supernatural.

"It was a kidnapping. They took the baby he was watching." 

The girl cut in then, like something cosmic was pulling the strings, compelling her to give Faith the information that she wanted. And Faith was in for a shock.

"They took our boss's son Connor. Well, Angel's not really the boss anymore, but the company is named for him. Wes is the boss. But, I guess not anymore, because Angel's a little mad at him. Well, more than a little, I'd say . . ."

Faith cut her off again, with the hand. No words. Because all the words were stuck halfway. Her mind spun. So many thoughts, and none at all were coherent. Just one phrase that bounced around her frozen brain. Angels baby. There was something seriously not right with this situation. What in the hell had her watcher been keeping from her?

The words 'That's impossible' pounded in her head, in her throat, wanting to escape the prison of her lips. They stuck on that heavy spot that she tried to swallow. It gave her time to think a second, but luckily, that's all it took. She couldn't be shocked. She couldn't hit, and force, and demand answers. She wasn't Faith, the rogue slayer. Not to them. And would Wes tell his cousin that his boss was a vampire?

Maybe. But probably not.

When she could speak, what Faith said instead was, "Can you take me to see my cousin?"


	2. Remembered Pain

A/N Thanks to all of you who have reviewed my story so far. It makes me want to keep writing! Feedback is like food for my writing mind, so keep them coming. Oh, swearing in this chapter. I knew I rated it R for a reason! This chapter is a little short, but I am working on more as you read this ;-)

Remembered Pain

***************

He was sleeping when they went into his room. 

Fred laid his bag beside the box she had brought the day before, laid his keys on the bag

As Faith stood in the doorway, looking at him, at the bandage at his throat, images strobed through her mind. Sharp fragments, like glass. Fragments of pain. Pain like that which she had caused this man. And now he would have yet another scar to bear. 

She couldn't take it. The big tough slayer. The con the other prisoners had steered clear of. Not for the violence that she had done, but because of the vibe that she threw off. The don't-fuck-with-me vibe. Faith, tough as nails. Who had lived through a knife wound to the stomach with her own weapon.  This was the girl that couldn't stand there in that hospital room. She couldn't stand there and look at him. Weak and pale, and lost. He looked so lost, even in sleep. It nearly wrenched her heart in two.

She turned and fled.

Fred, without Gunn, caught up with her in the hall. Gunn had refused to come in. He was waiting out by his truck. Something was very, very wrong, Gunn not coming in. But Faith wasn't thinking about that now. She was too busy thinking about her watcher, and concentrating too hard on trying to breathe. It physically hurt to do it. Why? Faith remembered torturing him. Remembered how stoic he had been. Remembered the pain she had caused. She had never wanted him to feel that again.

Yet here he was. In pain again.

Faith drew in a deep breath, remembering how at last.

"Are you alright, Sarah?"

Faith almost bit her head off for using the wrong name when she remembered that Sarah was the name she had given them. 

"I'm fine, thank you, Fred. I just  . . . he just looked so weak. Are you sure he's going to be all right?"

"That's what the doctors say. He can even go home, in a day or so. Are you sure that you don't want to wait until he wakes up?"

"No thanks." Faith ran her hands through her curls. "I think I'll let him rest and come back when I do the same."

She turned to walk away, trying to figure out where she'd stay that night.

"Do you have a place to stay?" The Texan asked. "Because you could come and stay with me at the hotel. But if you do, I wouldn't mention that you were related to Wesley. Things are a little strained right now. I guess we could say that you were a friend of mine . . . "

Faith cut her off, once again wondering what was going on between Wes and Angel. She had been concerned before now. Her watcher hadn't been to the prison in a while. He phoned, once a week, as always. But the calls had been brief and to the point. And always about her, lately. About her lessons, the books that he sent her. The books that made it past the mail censors, anyways. He hadn't been telling her anything about his life, and he had missed this week's phone call entirely.

But she now knew why that had happened.

And she couldn't blame him too much, because she had been keeping things from his as well. She hadn't told him about Lindsey, about the loophole, about the possibility of getting out.

They'd have to work on the communication.

"Um, Sarah?" Fred broke into her thoughts. "_Do you have place to go?" The girl looked worried about Faith. The slayer guessed she would be worried too, if she was talking to someone that had just zoned out like that._

"Um yah." Going back to the hotel with Fred would _not be a god idea. Certainly not. "I have someplace. __I just hope Wes understands me staying at his place._

"Do you need a ride?"

"No . . . thank you. I'll be fine." With that, Faith walked away from the other women, leaving Fred staring at her back in wonder.

*          *          *          *          *

The doctor had asked him if he had someone to call to take him home. The answer to that was a resounding no. 

Sometime while he had been asleep, someone had brought him a change of clothes, he could see by the bag on the chair. If he had to guess, he would have said it had been Fred. But he was still surprised that she had done that much, considering her words from the day before. "You should have come to us," and "it was all for nothing."

She couldn't have hurt him more if she had tried to smother him with a pillow, like Angel had done. The one thing that had been holding the slivered fragments of his shattered spirit together was the knowledge that what he had done had been necessary, not only to protect Connor, but to protect Angel. Angel, who was the closest thing that Wesley had to true family. Angel could have never dealt with the guilt if he had hurt his son. The vampire had a hard enough time dealing with the guilt over the things he had done as Angelus. Things that he wasn't responsible for. Wesley couldn't take the chance that the prophecy would come to pass. Angel mattered too much to him. He had given Wesley a place in the world. A place that fit. A place that felt right, more right than the Watcher's Council had ever felt. 

The council had always been more about his father. Wesley was more interested in fighting the evils of the world. The pomp and circumstance of the Council of Watchers had always seemed too British, even for Wesley. But he had been young and naïve when they had assigned him to Sunnydale, to the unprecedented two slayers. It was in Sunnydale that he learnt the truth. Where he learnt what the council really was. A tool of power for Quentin Travers. It may not have started out that way when the council was founded, but that was what it had become. 

There was no rhyme or reason to what Travers did. He was all about the fact that he had the ultimate control. That he held the reigns.  

Wesley had started to see that the second he learned the truth behind the dismissal of one Rupert Giles.

It had seemed ludicrous to the young watcher that Giles had been terminated for an attachment to his slayer. Would a watcher that was unattached, who wasn't invested in the life of his slayer, really be more effective?

Wesley didn't think so. 

But he refused to question it outside the confines of the walls of propriety that were in his mind. Walls that had been built by his father. Wes had so wanted to make his father proud. He hadn't wanted to do anything to jeopardize his standing as a watcher, or to quell his father's pride.

After all, his father had a son who was not only an active watcher, but who had both of the slayers under his care.

Wesley thought about of all this while lying in the hospital with the bandage at his throat and the remembered pain of his father's constant disappointment running through his veins.

He wondered why it had ever mattered what his father had thought. His father had never cared what Wesley thought or felt.

Why hadn't he realized what he now knew, that he would never have his father's approval? Why hadn't the knowledge come to him when he still could have been of some help to Faith? 

He should have known from the beginning that the council, that Travers, was wrong. That you needed to be attached to your slayer. Especially when they were girls like Buffy and Faith. It was Buffy's connection to those around her that had made her the historical slayer that she was. And it was the loss of the one attachment that Faith had had, to her watcher that had thrown her onto the path that had ended with her behind bars. Why couldn't Wes have thrown away the watcher's handbook sooner, when he still could have made a difference, when he could have changed Faith's path.

But he had, in the end. Even if it had been too late.

It was at this thought that Wes remembered her words that first visit with her in prison. "Be my Watcher?" And he remembered that life always gave you a second chance.

He just hoped the missed phone call this week wouldn't push Faith away.

If it did, it would be another thing that he had lost. Another price that he would have to pay for his attempt at doing the right thing. He had already lost his one true family for what he had done. He couldn't lose his slayer too. Not when she had finally come back to him, when she had finally turned to him of her own volition. Wesley had no idea why the thought of her pulling back away affected him so deeply.

It was probably the sight of the keys laid upon the bag of clothes. They were the physical confirmation that he had lost his family. An impersonal return of his emergency keys was a symbol that he had lost nearly everything. And he could not lose the one thing that he had left.

The others didn't know about Faith. Another secret that he had kept. But this one, unlike the prophecy, he was glad was his alone. He felt that if they had known, he would have lost her too.

He silently chastised himself for thinking that the others could be that spiteful.

And then he remembered the sensation of a cotton hospital pillow thrust over his face. Of his best friend stealing his life's breath with the material. Wes knew that Angel could have killed him, if he wanted, within the blink of an eye. No orderlies would have stopped him. But Wes also felt that Angel wanted to emphasize that it was the man that Wes had betrayed, so it would be the man that would end Wesley's life. That memory made him glad for the one secret that remained his. 

The doctor's voice made him come back to himself. He was being released. And no, he had no one to call to take him home. But at least he had fresh clothes. It was of little comfort.


	3. Coming Home

A/N Again, thanks so much for all the feedback. The more I get, the more I write. Think of it like a bribe.

Coming Home

************

Faith sat on the floor of Wesley's apartment, soaking up the quiet darkness that surrounded her. She has changed out of the suit she had been wearing, shoving the costume in her backpack. She had debated throwing it out, but it had come in handy once. Maybe she'd need it again someday. Who could predict those things?

Unfortunately, the only thing that the slayer had had to change into was the outfit that she had been wearing the night that she had confessed. Faith wished that she had had something else. Would the clothes remind him too much of the things that she had done? She hoped not. She really wanted a fresh start. A clean slate. She really wished that Lindsey had thought to bring her clothes other than the suit for court.

It's not that Lindsey hadn't given her useful things. He had.

He had gotten her the name of the hotel that housed the new offices of Angel Investigations, the address of the apartment where she currently sat. He had even given her a little bit of cash. Out of his own pocket.

But he hadn't thought of a change of clothes.

Oh well. Faith couldn't fault him for it. There wasn't much you could do. Men just didn't think of things like that, for the most part. Women's clothes weren't a priority. Not women putting them on, anyway. 

Faith was sitting cross-legged on the floor beneath a window, one of Wesley's journals open on her lap. She was trying to read by the light that filtered in from the street. She hadn't wanted to turn a lamp on, and alert the neighbours to her presence. They might know that Wesley was in the hospital, and call the police, knowing the place should have been empty. Faith didn't want to deal with the police again. Ever. If she could avoid the law for the rest of her life, then that would be fine with her. 

She wasn't positive any of his neighbours would know the difference. Wesley seemed to be too involved with Angel Investigations and the people there to be making friends with his neighbours. But Faith didn't want to take the chance. So the lights stayed off. 

When she had first come in to Wes's apartment, she noticed the state of the place. She supposed that she had been too preoccupied to notice when she had encountered Fred and Gunn. But then again, she hadn't been the only one thrown by the meeting. If they hadn't been, then Fred would have remembered to lock the deadbolt on the door on the way out that morning. But she hadn't, thankfully. It had made it that much easier to get into the watcher's place. All Faith had had to do was twist the doorknob hard enough to break the feeble lock. And it still gave all the outward appearances of a working door. The knob simply no longer had a functioning locking mechanism. So Faith remembered to throw the latch on the deadbolt as she closed the door, making sure no one without keys could come in.

It was after she had done that that she looked around the apartment. Even in the half dark she could see the scattered journals, the knowledge on paper which had exploded about the room.

She really was surprised that she hadn't seen it before. With notebooks spread open and writing upon any scrap that was suitable for holding ink, Wes's place resembled the library of Sunnydale High during a Scooby Gang research party.

Faith wondered what it was that Wesley had been researching. It had to have been something big for him to have left his journals out like that. Wes had always struck Faith as being organized. Well, maybe not so much organized, as anal. The one other uptight people would have laughed at.

That's how he had struck her that first day. Anal British Prig. As if it were his name tag.

But not anymore. He blew that image out of the water when he endured her torture and refused to scream. But she tried not to think about that. No matter how admirable and stoic he had been. She had been proud of him. But remembering her pride in him for his actions meant that she had to remember her part in it. And that was something that she was deeply ashamed of. She shook her head. Not the time to think of that now.

She had also thought that all of that book stuff was nerdy. But she knew better now. She understood more. The knowledge contained in those books could be used as a very powerful weapon. At times it was only that knowledge that allowed a slayer to conquer the things that needed defeating.

Slayer strength was essential at times. But on other occasions, that strength was only useful if you had knowledge of your opponent's weakness.

Yes. A thing or two that Wesley had taught her while she had been in prison had managed to sink in. It was the because of the fact that they had that she knew Wesley's opinion on the matter. It was that knowledge that allowed Faith to realize that there was something drastic going on. If there hadn't been, he would have never left his books that way.

So she had picked one of them up off of the pile, and had taken a seat where some of the light from outside could find its way to the words on the page. And she started to sift through all of that knowledge, looking for an explanation.

It was there that she was still sitting, one of the many books on her lap, when Wesley arrived home from the hospital.

*          *          *          *          *

He usually had no one to come home to. As Wesley walked down the hallway towards his apartment, he wondered why it felt so different. It's not like he had ever had that, aside from the all too short time with Virginia. But that wasn't what was bothering the watcher, the lack of a girlfriend. He tried to figure out what it was that was making his heart constrict as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys. When his hand touched the extra set, he knew why today was different. He fished the spare set out and looked at them. Remembered how they had been left unceremoniously in his hospital room with all of the other things removed from Angel Investigations so that they could deny his existence.

That was the difference. Before, if Wesley had needed someone to come home to, someone would have been there.

Not now.

He had never had to return from the hospital by himself before. It was a pain that wrenched his gut, closed his throat. 

When the restriction in his throat made it hard for him to breathe, he remembered that pillow. And the fact that they hadn't let him explain. And according to Fred's warning, he would never get the chance. Losing that chance made him angry. In his head, he understood their anger. That was why he fought to explain, to at least give them the why, even if they couldn't understand his reasons. But his heart hurt that he had not been given the chance.

Wesley had even written a letter to explain. But it wasn't to justify himself. He knew that there would never be any justification. Because of what he had done, Connor was gone. Not dead, Wesley refused to believe that. But gone. Wes wouldn't give up until he found a way to bring Connor back. But he could explain why he had done what he had done, maybe make some minute sense of his actions to the others.

He had still wanted to explain, to have them know why, to have them know his side, even after he had seen Angel.

He had understood Angel's rage. Wesley had taken the only son that the vampire would ever have. And lost that son to Angel's enemy. Wes could see why Angel was angry enough to act the way he had. After all, it had been the very day that Connor had been taken. 

So Wes had written the letter, hoping to send it. And that Angel would have become calm enough to let one of the others read it. That maybe Angel would want to know why.

Then Fred had visited. And Wesley had learned that time had done nothing. Then she had dropped the bombshell about the prophecy. After that, it no longer seemed to matter. Fred had made it really clear what they thought, made it really clear that they didn't want to know his side. They had already made up their minds.

So he had put the letter in the box with the other remnants of his life at AI. He didn't know why he hadn't just thrown it out. Maybe he would. And everything else. Maybe he'd start over. All of these thoughts made it a little easier to put the key in the lock. The hurt he had felt had begun to turn to bitterness as he had lain in that hospital for hours, for days, alone.

When Wes turned the key for the lock in the doorknob, he found that the lock had finally let go. It had been weak to begin with, and he had known it would be just a matter of time until it gave way. At least the deadbolt still held. 

The door swung inwards into the very dark apartment. The light from the hallway only penetrates as far as the couch, but it was enough to reveal all of the papers strewn about.

That explained how they knew what he had done. Wes couldn't believe it. They would have had to have gone through, like they would have done with a suspect. That's what he now was to them, a suspect.

Wesley leaned against the wall, the remnants of his life on a box in his arms. It was only as his foot pushed the door closed that he wondered that if Gunn and Fred had found these journals, had they found the others? The ones about Faith?

The thought jarred him the same instant that the door slammed closed. And it was in that instant that the silent emptiness of his apartment, his world, shattered.

*          *          *          *          *

Faith had been looking for clues, for anything to help her decipher the fragments of conversation she had heard between Fred and Gunn. "Angel", "forgive", "hundred years". She was looking for notes about what she, as a slayer, had always been taught was impossible. How a vampire had had a child. She had briefly wondered if it had been Buffy's.

There was just so much information to sift through, mostly things about a prophecy. And Faith had had a long day, between court, and the hospital. Her slayer stamina had only held out for so long, and she had fallen asleep. Knees pulled in, her head lolling forward to rest across the journal that lay atop her knees.

But those long nights at the prison had taught her to be aware of her surroundings, even in sleep. The door opening had been done with a quiet reverence, and had only stirred her into awareness. It was the slam of it closing that snapped her to full attention. It pulled on her, not unlike the strings on a puppet, and before her heart had beat a second time, the slayer was on her feet.

The swift movement of a figure on the other side of the room caused Wesley to drop his box to the floor with a loud crash.

Had one of the people who had tried to kill him come back to finish the job?

The dark shape stood up with silent grace and fluid motion, landing on its feet in one motion, the motion of a natural predator.

Its dark hair floated down towards its waist in a cascade of raven curls. And there was something intuitively familiar about it. The figure filled him with both trepidation and warmth. With contradictory fear and pride.

Fear, because some of the scars hid body bore, he had received from her.

Pride, because that natural predator was his to teach. His to mold, and to transform.

She was his slayer.

"Hey Wes."

It seemed he had someone to come home to, after all.


	4. From the Darkness

A/N I know, I know, it has been a loooooong time since I posted, but I have been pretty sick. Please forgive me. And I know that this is a short part, for now, but I have been really inspired, and the rest should come out nice and quick. (I hope!) Again, thanks for the feedback. I really enjoy it!

From the Darkness

****************

The world seemed to spin on its axis, then slam to a stop. The universe narrowed and became just the two of them, in the darkness.

Rogue Slayer. Terminated Watcher.

The silence echoed for endless moments, as the pair simply stood and stared at one another.

Faith's posture relaxed, her slayer senses accepting that Wesley was not a danger. She stood uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot, no longer having the defensive position dictating her body's movements.

It was awkward. There was too much to say. So much to explain. Why couldn't it be simple? But it wasn't. The weight of the past, of the present, was pushing on them, making it hard.

The dark slayer really had _no idea of what to say. Of where to start. Of how to explain the hows and whys. How she was out of jail, why she was in his apartment. There was just too much too wrap her tongue, her mind, around._

But instinct made up her mind for her, pushed the words past her lips before she could stop them.

She nodded her head to the spilled box while walking towards Wesley.

"Smooth, Wes. Graceful, as always. Do they teach you that at watcher school? Those skills must come in handy for slayer training."

She was standing in front of him now, saw the almost imperceptible flinch at her words.

She hung her head, hiding behind the dark waves of her hair, ashamed. Seeing the mess at her feet, she knelt, moving to pick up the contents of the box, sorting through the pieces. Trying to clean up the mess.

"Shit," she swore.

Wes stared down at the dark hair of the slayer, his slayer, and tried to adjust to the new tilt in his universe. 

"Sorry. Reverting to old ways.  I guess I just don't know what to say, or where to start."

He contemplated bending to help her, but thought better of it as she continued to talk. She seemed to be having an easier time of it, not looking at him. Having something else to focus on. Almost as if she was talking to herself, with him as simply a silent observer.

"Sarcastic bitchiness. Guess it comes to me easier that the truth." She righted the box, started to pick up the loose papers back in it. "I mean, how do I explain it to you when I barely get it myself, and I lived it? One minute, I'm thinking 'Wow, 'bout time I get a visit from my MIA watcher', the next, I'm sitting there looking at that slick lawyer, listening to him babble about springing me from the joint. I still don't know how, or why. Some shit about legalities. All I know is, I'm sprung."

She stilled, sat back on her knees. Sighed. "But I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? I mean, he had to have done it for a reason, right? Lawyers just don't do things out of the goodness of their hearts. They don't even _have them. I mean, he said that he didn't work for the big bad W+H anymore. But he could be lying, right?" At that, she glanced briefly up at her watcher, then back down into her own lap. "I mean, lawyers kind of live to lie."_

The slayer went back to picking up the remnants of her watcher's spilled box, talking the whole time. "And even if he doesn't work for Wolfram and Heart anymore, he's still a lawyer. And lawyers just don't do things without a reason, do they?" She stopped, took a breath, and started to pick up the shattered pieces of the broken tea set. 'Shit! I'm babbling like the redhead." Another deep breath. "Point is, I don't know how, or why I'm free. But I am. And I'm here. Not to sure on the why of that one, either."

She glanced up at her watcher, hands stilling for a moment, as she tried to judge his reactions. He still looked a little shell shocked. The look in her eyes was wary, worried. They said that she was waiting for yet another rejection.

At that look, Wes searched for the voice the doctor said would be slow in coming. He wanted to wipe that look out of the girl's eyes. To tell her he would never reject her, even though the emotion was somewhat new and something that he couldn't explain. Why did he feel the need to protect this girl? The girl who has tortured him, had left him with the scars to bear? Was it simply because he was her watcher once more, and accepted the responsibility for her well being as part of the job? Wesley was pretty sure that that wasn't the reason. But he had no idea what the reason _was._

What he did know was how it felt to be turned on. To be cast away without a chance to prove yourself, to explain your side. He knew how it ripped you apart to be condemned for doing what your gut told you to do to survive. For doing what you needed to do.

She was a slayer. It was in her gut to come to her watcher. It was an instinct. He wouldn't cast her away. Couldn't cast her away.

He was still trying to speak, trying to tell her that they would figure out what was going on. That they would do it together. But the words refused to come. 

She has gone back to picking up the shattered china, was no longer looking at his face. She couldn't see him struggling to talk.

"Shit!"

Her exclamation snapped Wesley out of his attempts to speak. Her hand had caught a sharp edge of the china, and a line of red had welled up in her palm. Blood leaked slowly out of the cut.

Wesley was on his knees, her hand in his, him inspecting the small injury, before she even knew he had moved.

"Dumbass huh? Figures. Goes with the rest of the lame ass shit I'm pulling right now. So not me." She snatched her hand away from Wesley, more surprised at the touch then the cut. It had been a long time since someone had touched her for a reason other than to force her into something. Casual touching wasn't something that you did in prison.

It had been even longer since someone had touched her gently, with eyes full of caring. Could she even remember when that had been? Had that _ever been?_

And why was she so warm? Why did it matter? Why was she being all girly about it?

That wasn't her.

She was tough. He didn't need anyone. She wasn't the girly type. She was the slayer. The dark slayer. Tough. Loner. Even if she wanted to make amends, she didn't have to get soft. She would never _be soft. Not like Buffy. She wasn't soft, Or feminine. Girly. She didn't care about clothes, boys, the simple act of holding hands. Holding hands didn't turn her on. She had sex. She got laid. She fucked. She didn't hold hands, make love. She was tougher than that. So why did the touch of Wes's hand make something inside of her warm, as if it would melt the ice she'd encased her heart with? _

She finished yanking her hand away, impressed at the strength Wes had gained. Impressive, but no match for a slayer. She stood up suddenly, catching Wes off guard. He stood slowly, watching her sudden agitation. How long had it been since someone had cared about this girl for more than what she could do for them? How long had it been since someone had cared simply because she was Faith? Not because she was another soul to save or because she was a slayer, but because she was her? Because she was who she was? Wes wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer to that question. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know what it was that made him wonder.

"No big Wes. Just a little scratch. Super slaying abilities, remember?" She used the thumb of her other hand to clear some of the blood away. "See? Already healing. Rapid healing is part of the super slayer package."

She made a move towards the door.

"Sorry to bother you, man. I just thought I should let you know what's what, that I was sprung. I'll talk to you when I find a place to settle. Maybe we can do some slayer/watcher thing, if you still want. But whatever." She shrugged. "I'm five by five either way. No skin off my back. I'll slay, and you can watch, if you want. I mean, can you see me giving up killing cold turkey?" She laughed, a bitter and jagged sound, full of images of the harsh, real world that she existed in. 

He still hadn't said a word, so she spun around and pulled the door open. It was then that she felt a hand on her arm, and she turned back around, looking up at the watcher.

His chin tilted up proudly, revealing the jagged, healing slash along his throat.

It slammed into Faith suddenly, the realization that he hadn't been talking. Not because he didn't have anything to say, as she thought, but because he couldn't talk. Fred has told her that. How could she have forgotten?

"Jeez, Wes, you just got out of the hospital. You probably want to sleep. And here I am, in your face, acting ridiculous and not at all like me. I'll just go. See ya around."

She tried to turn, but his hand that had gained more strength since she had last been trained by him was still on her arm, and this time it wasn't as easy to struggle out of. Fighting demons had changed him, she saw. Not just in mind, but in body. She could have gotten away if she really fought him, but she found that she didn't _want to get away._

"Faith," he finally managed in a voice that was more of a sandpapered hiss then words. "Stay."

The door closed again, propelled by her other hand. It punctuated his words, and gave him her answer.


	5. Past Echoes

A/N I know, I know, this part has been a really long time coming. But the site was having problems, and then my computer got a virus, then I got a virus, and. . . .  Anyhoo, here it is, finally, the next part. Please send me lots and lots of feedback. The more I get, the more I want to write.

Past Echoes

**********

Unsure of what to do next, slayer and watcher stood staring at each other. The echo of the door closing drifted through the quiet apartment. Both occupants of the room knew that that sound signified an enormous change in their lives. But neither Wesley nor Faith knew what to do next. The closing door was closing not only the apartment from the world, but the pair from their pasts as well. And neither of them were any good at new beginnings. They always seemed to lead to bad endings. This was one case where practice hadn't made perfect.

Faith began to be uncomfortable as the moments stretched into minutes. She shuffled her feet as she stood there staring at her once and future watcher. Faith actually shuffled her feet, and caught the girlish behavior, about to sharply reprimand herself when her foot brushed against the paper among the remnants of the box that still remained strewn on the floor. The envelope under her foot seemed out of place to her. Moreover, it just _felt wrong. And Wesley had been uncomfortable about something in the box. She had felt that too. But she didn't want to draw any attention to it. It had made her curious and Faith always tended to satiate her curiosity. So she casually pushed it back with her foot as she knelt to finish picking up the mess. She placed the remaining items back in the box with one hand while pocketing the envelope with the other.  She managed to hide the movement from Wesley as he bent down to pick up the box._

"I'm here with you less than ten minutes, and I'm already wrecking the joint. I guess I'd better get a handle on that, huh? I mean, since you seem to be willing to let me stick around for the time being."

Wesley looked as if he was going to speak, so she held up her hand to stop him.

"Forget it watcher man." She stood up, walking towards the kitchen as Wesley put the box on the table and looked around his apartment with weary eyes.

"You need to save your voice. Don't talk." When he tried again, she looked at him sharply, causing him to stop.

"Me first. I have a voice. And a story that we need to figure out. I'll talk, you think." She continued to the kitchen, his eyes following her movements as she filled the kettle with water. "And drink tea. You drink tea, right?" She glanced at the almost healed cut on her hand from the china service. "Yeah, you drink tea. It's English, you're English. Besides, it's soothing. For your throat and all. You need that. Trying to talk."

She said all of this while she puttered around his kitchen in a very domestic way. Wesley watched the brunette with interest and no small amount of skepticism. Faith had always been the furthest thing from domestic that Wesley could have imagined, even if she was good with a knife. He unconsciously rubbed his wrists at the thought, as though the ropes still bound them.

"Don't look at me like that, Sir British. They have a kitchen in the joint. And they sometimes make you work there." She chuckled at the look on his face at her joking about prison. But Faith believed in that old philosophy, something about laughing or crying. 

And Faith was no crier. 

Before Wesley could wrap his mind around the fact that Faith was making him tea, he was sitting on his couch, amidst the papers he had never left there, and listening to her think aloud, puzzling out why she was now free.

*          *          *          *          *

He sat in the darkness, the glasses that he usually wore set aside on the table. He ran his hand through the hair that was getting a little longer than he normally wore it, and looked at the girl asleep on his couch. Could she really be called a girl? After all, she no longer was one in numbers. And the watcher wasn't sure if she had ever been one in life experience.

He looked at her sleeping face again, and he decided that yes, in sleep, she was a girl. In sleep, she regained that innocence that she had lost so very long ago. Wesley suspected that it was something she had lost long before she had been called. Faith was the opposite of most people. She had the nightmares while she was awake. It was when she slept that she escaped them.

He watched her sleep, heavy thoughts weighing on his mind.

Her eyes had started to droop while she was telling him what had happened, how Lindsey McDonald had come to her, how she had stood in front of a judge in clothes that should have belonged to someone else, and hair softer than she wore it. It still fell around her face in untamed curls, instead of the waves that she usually tamed it into. She had told Wesley about how she had stood there and heard the judge saying that Lindsey was right. That her rights had been violated, how it was unconstitutional to keep her in prison. And now she was free to go.

She spoke of how she had stood there in the sunlight, staring at the sky, not believing that it had happened.

Not knowing where else to go, she had headed towards her watcher, not knowing how he would take it, not knowing how he would take her.

"It's one thing, you being okay being my watcher when I am behind bars, but quite another when I am free and can hurt people," she had said.

She was much harder on herself than Wesley had imagined Faith would be. He could still hear her words, echoing in his head.

"I killed people Wesley. People. I don't deserve rights." She had told him this after relating the judge's decision.

Plus, she had hurt him. She had been unsure how he would accept her, but she had come to him.

And found out what had happened.

Or part of it, anyway. He knew she had been reading through the material strewn through the apartment. Things that Gunn and Fred had to have discovered. And he had felt compelled to tell her the truth, to tell her his side. To tell her what he hadn't gotten to tell his "family".

It had been right after she had told him about seeing him in the hospital that he had once again tried to talk.

And once again, she wouldn't let him. And she did something the others hadn't. She understood. _Without the benefit of words. Even if she didn't know the whole story._

"Don't." she had said, hands held up at his indrawn breath and open mouth. "I know that you are going to try to explain how you ended up in that hospital bed, but don't. With me, you don't have to."

At her words, he had released his held breath.

"I'm not entirely sure what's going on." She had continued. "Angel seems to have a kid, and I don't know how." She had held up her hand to stop him before he had even tried to speak. "And you'll explain it all, in a couple of days, when your voice comes back. But I know you, man. You're a good guy. A white hat. Whatever you did, you did out of necessity, not out of cruelty" She had sighed then, turning into couch and bringing her knees up and her feet on the cushions, "Not like me." Her head had dropped onto the back of the couch, her cheek, brushing the fabric as she yawned. "Cruelty's my bag, not yours." Her eyes had drifted shut, and then back open as she fought to stay awake. "I guess I should get . . ." She never finished the sentence as she lost her battle and succumbed to sleep.

As she had relaxed into sleep, she had curled in on herself, laying on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest in a very protective gesture.

A gesture he had found himself in when he had awakened from the nightmares that first night in the hospital. After Angel had  tried to press the breath out of his body.

And his heart went out to her.

He covered her with a blanket, wishing that he had the strength to carry her to the bed, before realizing that she probably wouldn't have appreciated the gesture. She was too tough for things like that. At least that was the image she tried to project. But he couldn't go to his room, leave her there to wake alone on the couch. It seemed so cold.

So he sat. And he watched, as a watcher was wont to do, and he marveled at how his world had shifted when he had walked through his apartment door.

*          *          *          *          *

The very first rays of the early morning sun needed only to touch the dark slayer's face in order to wake her from her restful slumber. It was an instinct that she had gotten from prison, she supposed. It certainly wasn't a natural slayer instinct. Her slayer instincts told her that sunshine was the best time _to sleep. It was the time of day when her enemies had to run off and hide from the cleansing and killing rays of earth's biggest star. Daylight had once been welcomed and cherished by the slayer._

All that had changed in prison.

You couldn't sleep while others were awake. It left you vulnerable. Open.

Faith couldn't sleep in the daylight anymore.

She'd have to get over that.

The brunette woke with that feeling of disorientation you get when waking in a new place. It was no longer disconcerting.

Faith couldn't remember the last time that she had awakened without having that feeling.

Even in prison. She had never been comfortable enough there to have that feeling of familiarity, and was glad. To her, that would have meant belonging, and although Faith longed to belong somewhere, she had never wanted to belong in prison. So she awoke suddenly, pushing a handful of curls out of her face and trying to come to grips with her surroundings. But the pounding disorientation ended when her eyes landed on her watcher, asleep in the armchair nearby.

That was when the curiosity had taken over. Why hadn't he gone to bed? He was still healing. Why had he stayed there? And why had he covered her with the blanket she now clutched, for only he could have. For one brief moment, Faith imagined that it was because he cared about her. Cared about Faith. But the warm glow faded a little as she realized that he did care. As a watcher did. About his slayer.

Still, it was more than anyone else had cared in a long while.


	6. Gambles and Needs

A/N See, when I get a groove on, I can update fast! Feed the author beast and give me feedback!

Gambles and Needs

****************

Lindsey hung up the phone and allowed himself a small smile. His instincts had been right about Faith. Granted, his instincts usually weren't very far off, but Faith had been a big gamble. He could usually read people pretty well, but not Faith. Faith was a hard one, in more ways than one.

Lilah, on the other hand, Lilah was extremely easy to read. Even from miles away, only half watched, in order to protect himself from the consequences of his desertment of Wolfram and Hart, he could tell what she was planning. What she was plotting.

He knew what Lilah was thinking in regards to the ex-watcher. Or was that watcher, now that Faith seemed to have run back to settle firmly under his wing?

It wasn't like Lindsey had been reborn, had decided to become one of the good guys, the syrupy sweet righteous type, like those that worked for Angel. As a matter of fact, he still hated Angel with a passion.

The highway patrolmen had not been amused.

And hating Angel usually meant hating the lot of them.

So why did it matter to Lindsey what happened to one Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?

It didn't really.

But if Wolfram and Hart were working as hard as Lilah seemed to be to recruit the former leader of Angel Investigations, it must mean that the man was fairly significant to the big fight.

And as much as Lindsey hated Angel, he didn't want Wolfram and Hart to win this fight. The thought terrified him.

If they were to gain rule of LA, or anything else, he shuddered to think what would happen. It was bad enough that they had the power that they did have.

So Lindsey went ahead and assembled the case as his former law firm had been prepared to do if Faith had followed their plan, had done what they wanted.

Because Lindsey had been keeping tabs on Faith too. And she had received numerous visits from one Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.

So Lindsey took a gamble and got her released, banking on her running to her watcher.

And she had done just that.

Now Lindsey hoped he was right about the rest. That Faith would stick around and that she would manage to keep Lilah's claws out of Wyndham-Pryce.

*          *          *          *          *

Wesley woke to the sounds of domesticity in the kitchen.

He almost didn't recognize the sounds, it had been so long since he'd heard them.

He thought back to his first morning with Angel Investigations. Before Gunn. Before Darla. Before Pylea, and Fred, Buffy's death and resurrection, before Connor. Before the events that had shattered his reality, and had fragmented his family.

It had been simple back then. Just Angel, Cordelia, and himself. They fought evil. They had eggs.

Was that what he was smelling right now? Or was it just that vivid a memory?

He sniffed at the air again, and again heard the noise that had woken him.

Clattering in the kitchen.

He rubbed his hands across his face, trying to rub the remnants of a long night spent in his chair away.

His skin dragged on the stubble covering his chin. He needed a shave, and as his hands passed over his eyes, he thought about his glasses. When was the last time that he had worn them? He didn't know. But as his stomach rumbled, the smells penetrating his senses, his glasses were forgotten. He got up and approached the kitchen.

He knew Faith was there. After all, that's why he had slept in the chair. And she had made him tea the night before. In that very kitchen, without disastrous results.

But it was still jarring enough to see her in the kitchen, looking very much like the old Faith in her black clothes and tousled hair. Yet there was something different about her, humming softly and stirring something that was cooking on the stove. She just _seemed different. He hoped that she'd stick around long enough for him to find out why._

*          *          *          *          *

After being strapped to a chair by the girl that had made breakfast and now sat across from him, Wesley thought that he would never again be surprised by her.

He was wrong. She had cooked. For him. Well, for both of them. But still, she had thought to include him. Nothing could have surprised him more.

It seemed that he was always wrong when it came to Faith, no matter what he thought.

Could he do this? Could he be her watcher if he couldn't predict her? And who could he ask? Not the council, for certain? And not Giles, who had ceased to be a watcher himself. Giles had gone back to England, believing Buffy needed to start standing on her own.

Kind of ironic that it was at the same time that Faith realized that she no longer could.

Faith had always been the more independent of the two slayers. So different from Buffy, right from the first. No family, no friends, no watcher. No desire for a new one, especially a stuffy Brit in suits and glasses.

He ran a hand through his scruffy hair, thinking how they had both changed so much.

People were not solitary animals, not even the slayer, no matter how much the Council wanted them to be. Buffy had more than proven that.

The Council of Watchers insisted that the slayer always cut herself off from the world. From her friends. From her parents.

Like Kendra.

But Buffy had refused. And she had proven just how wrong the Council was. It was her connections that kept her alive. Her friends.

And when she died, it was her friends that brought her back.

First Xander, the night that the Master had been set free.

Then Willow, and the irrefutable proof that the slayer needed people of strength around her.

Because without them, Buffy Anne Summers would still be six feet under.

Everyone needed people around them. Even slayers.

And Faith has finally let herself need someone.

But the watcher wasn't sure who needed who more.

He needed someone. In an unbearable way that screamed in his heart and ripped at his skin. And he needed to be needed.

The thing that he had done had taken away that which was most vital to him. His family. The family that he had sought and craved his entire life. And he had thrown it all away, on a false prophecy. He had shattered his life on the assumption that he would be saving the person who had managed to get into his heart. The brother that his soul had cried out for, and that his life's path had led him to.

He remembered the shattering of spirit, the knife sharp shards cutting at his soul at the words. Words delivered in the coldest fashion possible. The back of the women that had captured his heart turned towards him as she spoke the words that sealed his coffin shut.

The prophecy was a fake, a ruse, a plot, a ploy. A trap. Meant to lead him on the path to his greatest destruction, as the thing that had forged it had known it would.

And there, in that room, Fred had ended his life. She had told him to never come back, and he knew then that he would never have the chance to speak his side. That is wouldn't matter if he did. That the letter that he had written with tears in his heart and sobs in his throat would never be read.

He could never fix that which he had broken. But he would try. He _would find Connor. _

The words that Fred had spoken had ended his life in a way that Justine's knife could never have done. Even if she had sliced that one inch over that the doctors had told him he had been lucky with.

That would have been quick and relatively painless.

But Fred's words had started the slow process of killing his soul. They had stolen his hope.

And he was convinced that he would slowly whither away. That he would die of a broken heart and a shattered spirit of his own doing.

And then he had found Faith, who had come to him with hope and trepidation in her eyes. Would her presence and her need for his guidance be enough to pull him back, to keep him alive, to keep him sane? 

It was then that he discovered he needed her far more than she would ever need him.

But could he accept that?  Could he need someone who had tried to kill him, someone who had marked him with battle scars?

He would have to. He would have to take that gamble. He felt that he couldn't survive if he didn't.

"Wes! Hey, earth to British Guy!"

When Wes felt his mind snap back to his body, Faith was standing halfway out of her chair, her hand waving in front of his face in a frenzied fashion. As if nothing mattered more that her attempt to snap him back to reality.

With a blink and a shudder, he pulled himself out of the well of deep thought that he had been lost in.

"I know my cooking is a bit of a stunner, but does it really require that depth of thought?" She laughed, a rough sound in her throat, as if it had been a very long time since she had made that sound. "I may not be a bad cook, but even the best omelettes taste like shit cold. Eat it!" 

He went to say something, to wonder aloud what to do next, thinking that they would have to flounder through this slayer/watcher thing together, but she held up that forceful hand, put up that palm, that palm that he had quickly learned meant 'don't even think about it, buster', in his face, and shook her head.

"No talking, watcher man. At least not today." She shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth, chewing rapidly and swallowing swiftly, as if prison had taught her that savoring food was something that she was no longer allowed the luxury of. "God knows that I have a million and two questions that I am going to demand you answer, not the least of which are how you got that nice new scar and how in the fuck Angel had a kid. Nearly passed out when the geek and the thug told me that."

She averted her eyes at the harsh look from him, misinterpreting his surprise at her mention of them as disdain for the monikers she had given them.

"I mean Fred and Charles. Keeping the shock off of my face was a chore, let me tell you. 'Course, they didn't tell me what Angel was. And after all, couldn't let on that I knew their boss was a vamp. I mean, that's probably not something that a proper watcher would tell his cousin, huh? After all, I probably wouldn't even know you had been a watcher."

The next look Faith managed to interpret correctly.

"I know! I wouldn't buy it either. But they did. Good thing that the cheerleader wasn't around." He winced a little at the mention of Cordelia. She saw, and moved on quickly. "Like I said, I expect a full disclosure. But I think I can manage to wait another day or two."

Faith got up and started removing the dishes off of the table. Wesley was surprised to see that he had managed to eat his omlette while she spoke.

"Today I think that we need to find some training space." She looked around his apartment. "Not that your place lacks charm. But I just don't think the size is going to work for the workouts that I have in mind."

Wesley nearly dropped his tea in his lap at the statement. And he wondered why there was a sudden lick of fire in his gut.

It really had been a long time if could take an innocent statement in such a way.

He sighed heavily and got up to help with the dishes.


	7. Stepping Forward

A/N I am sorry for the delay. As a lot of you already know, I have been preparing to move, have started a new job, and have had limited computer time, as of late. I will try to update more regularly, and am sure that my ASSB family will hound me so that I stick to that. Feedback, as always, is food for a writer's soul.

Stepping Forward

***************

The mood hung heavy in the hotel. Fred had thought that Cordelia's return would have bolstered Angel out of his depression. And there was no doubt in Fred's mind that he was depressed. In the clinical sense of the word.

He barely left his room, he showed no interest in their cases, he would barely speak to them, barely speak to Cordelia. And, worst of all, he had given up on Connor. Written the boy off as dead.

That truly upset her.

Angel had tried one spell, _one_, to get his son back from Quortoth.

She was heartbroken at the thought. She had been against what Wes had done, because there was no way that Fred could believe that Angel would kill his son.

But she wouldn't have thought that he'd give up so easily either. That he'd listen to an enemy about there being only one way. That he'd stop trying to open a portal he succeeded or died trying to get his son back. That he would accept that there wasn't any hope.

After all, dimension hopping may be traumatic, but it didn't cause death. If anyone knew that, Fred did. And after all, Angel hadn't given up when he needed to find a way to get to Pylea and get Cordelia back.

But then again, he had Wesley behind him then. Wesley, who knew what books to look in and where to start looking in the first place when they had gone to Pylea.

Fred knew now that with Angel giving up, they needed Wesley's expertise to find the baby.

The need to put their fractured family back together.

They needed to hear from Wesley, to understand his side, to learn the truth.

But Fred wasn't close enough to either man to be able to mend that breach.

Cordelia would have to do it.

And Fred was planning on talking to her about it. Today. As they tried to scrub that horrible symbol off of the lobby floor.

*****

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce sat on a hard, wooden bench in a slightly run down gym, in a not so great neighborhood in L.A. He was trying to get a lead on Connor by doing what he did best. Research. But could research really help when he was so short on facts? He believed that it has something to do with Sahjhan, but for all Wesley knew, Holtz was just your run of the mill, redneck kidnapper, and had taken the baby to live on a compound in Texas.

To make matters worse, he was trying to find an answer in the one book and two journals that he had managed to throw into a backpack, along with some workout clothes for both him and Faith, before his slayer had dragged him out to look for a gym, flinging the bag onto her own back. 

After al, he couldn't wear it with her behind him on the bike, now could he?

And the bike was his only remaining piece of transportation.

Faith loved the bike on sight. She was not, however, very happy with the pink helmet.

And now he say, in the aforementioned gym, on a wooden bench with his books spread around him, trying to research, In truth, he spent most of the time watching his slayer. It was funny. She'd been in back in his life in a constant, rather than sporadic, prison visitation way, less than two days, and already she was his slayer again. _His._

And it didn't bother him in the least. In fact, he felt surprisingly food about it. It was the only thing in his life that he _did_ feel good about.

So he sat and read his books, looking for whatever it was that he might have missed. He had brought his workout clothes, but Faith had insisted that he bring books as well, saying that he wasn't well enough to be getting physical with a slayer.

And that had been another statement that made him realize that he needed to go out on a date, or at least go into a bar and pick somebody up, or something. Anything that stopped his brain from going in a direction that it should never go in regards to his charge when she said things that should have been taken in an innocent fashion.

Faith was currently jumping rope and trying to get back into the watcher/slayer routine. She may have been keeping up with her slayer physicality in prison. And she has also been reading whatever books Wesley had sent her that had managed to get through the censors. And yes, they'd even had slayer-like conversations. But it felt different that with her last watcher.

And it felt different than with Giles.

Was it being in prison? Had she just forgotten how it was supposed to go?

Because she was pretty sire that a slayer wasn't supposed to think the way she had been thinking about her watcher since she had thrown herself back into his life.

She wasn't supposed to feel all momma bear protective of him, demanding that he rest. And cooking for him? What the hell was that about? Was it because she had lost her first watcher, and now she was overprotective?

That could be it.

But that sure as hell didn't account for the heat that had coiled in her belly when she had straddled his motorcycle, and pressed herself up to his back. 

He wasn't the wimpy Wesley she had known, anymore.

It had just been too long. Almost 2 years in prison She needed to get laid. When she did, she'd stop seeing Wesley as a man, and start seeing him as a watcher again. That's all it was. That's all it could be, considering how little time she had been out, had been with him. It was lust, pure and simple. And he was the only male body she has come into contact with for any length of time, so naturally, that need was just spilling onto him. She'd have to go bar hopping and take care of that. Before something in her snapped and she did something stupid.

But for now, she was busy trying to exhaust the need right out of her body. She was currently jumping rope in an effort to do just that. What she really wanted to do was spar with someone.

That was something that a slayer would usually do with her watcher. But he had just gotten out of the hospital. And there were other reasons that it wouldn't be a good idea. But Faith didn't want to explore those feelings. So she thought about how weak he still was. And she was glad that she had made him bring the books.

Faith didn't want to hurt him. Or do anything else to him.

She paused in her jumping to once again roll up the too long sle4eves of her borrowed t-shirt. She really needed to go shopping, to get her own clothes.

But working out had been more important than clothes shopping. She hadn't worked out in almost a week, and she had been ready to bust with the excess energy.

But that meant wearing whichever workout clothes that Wesley could scrounge up for her. Her black jeans and motorcycle boots just wouldn't have cut it.

But Wesley had found some of Cordelia's things, and some of Fred's. Apparently, Angel Investigations tended to leave extra clothes in all the locations where they might end up, wounded or slimed, after a fight.

So Faith had to choose from, the guys' clothes, which were all too big, Fred's, which were too small, and Cordelia's, which fit. Sort of. Well, at least the track shoes fit.

The dark slayer pushed up the sleeves again in exasperation. "Ok, that's it!" She tossed the jump rope on the floor, as Wesley looked up at her, questioningly.

"I know Fred's smaller than me. I've seen the girl. But her clothes have got to be better than this." She glared down at the long t-shirt she was wearing, plucking at them hem that hung nearly to her knees.

She marched over to where Wes was sitting and plunges her hands into the backpack. She looked at the garments for a second, leggings and a cutesy t-shirt with a kitten on the front, and then dug out the dagger she had stashed in the bag, as well.

"Be right back, watcher man," Faith threw over her shoulder as she stood and headed for the change rooms, leaving Wesley wondering what exactly it was that she was going to do with the knife.

Little more than five minutes later she emerged, and as he looked at her, again feeling the low down lick of heat, he knew why she had taken the dagger.


	8. Importance of Words

A/N I know that it has been MONTHS since I updated this story, but, as some of you know, I've been having a rather eventful time in my personal life. I've been writing again, and hope to be able to post this more often. I hope that some of you are still reading it. And I dedicate this chapter to my ASSB support team. I don't think I'd be breathing these last two weeks without you.

Importance of Words

*******************

Faith had taken what had been a cute, comfortable, post-hunting outfit on Fred, and had turned it into an outfit that had every male in the suddenly quiet gym looking up and taking notice.

Wesley saw why it was that she had taken the knife with her. The leggings were now very short, and on Faith, who was larger, though not in a bad way, then Fred, very tight.

The t-shirt, which had been a comfy fit on Fred, clung to Faith's larger frame. And it was now missing its sleeves. And a considerable amount of it's length, so that it showed off a large amount of the skin of Faith's flat stomach.

As Wes looked at his charge, all of his faculties seemed to desert him. All of the moisture vacated his mouth, leaving him feeling like a man that had wandered a vast desert for a large amount of time.

The book in his hands, useless as it was, suddenly slipped through his nerveless fingers. It hit the floor with a loud thump, snapping Faith's attention away from the ponytail she was reforming in her hair to her watcher. She hadn't even noticed the stares of the others that were scattered around the gym.

And when she saw that Wes had dropped his book, she was suddenly worried for his health and hurried to where he sat.

The few other men in the gym, all of whom had been intently watching the slayer, went back to their own activities. Even from across the room, those other men knew they had no chance as they saw the look of concern that the brunette had had in her eyes for the man she now rushed to.

"Wesley? God Wes, are you okay?!" Faith tried to keep the panic out of her voice as she knelt and picked up the book he had dropped.

Wesley cleared his long unused throat and got to speak before Faith could stop him.

"Faith, I'm fine. Just dropped my book."

"Well you look a little pale and it's not like you to . . . " Her voice drifted off as she realized that she was responding to something that Wesley has said. "Hey! You spoke! You shouldn't be speaking."

"The doctor said to limit the use of my voice, Faith. Not to stop speaking all together. You hadn't let me before now, that's all."

He looked at her again, what she had turned Fred's clothes into, and fought to divert that attention in his mind from the body of his slayer and the sudden tightening in his gut.

"Fred will be angry at what you've done to that shirt. It was one of her favorites."

"Wes, do you really give a shit at what Fred would think at this point?" The slayer's eyes snapped with anger. These people, the ones that Wesley had considered family, hadn't even bothered to call to see how he was, if he was still alive.

"Faith, they have every right to be angry with me."

His slayer started pacing in agitation in front of the bench where he sat.

"Bullshit Wes!!! If Angel can forgive me when I killed people, humans. I tried to kill him. A few times. He'd forgive you. And you didn't do shit to the rest of them."

"Faith, you don't know the whole story."

"Damned right I don't!" She whipped her head around to gaze sharply into his eyes. "And you promised you'd tell me when you could talk." She stopped pacing and stood in front of him, arms crossed defiantly. "And you can talk, so start talking!"

This was a conversation that Wes had not been looking forward to. And to tell her here, of all places. Well, he had promised, and she had waited long enough. He took a breath, resigned to relating the details of his greatest humiliation in the workout area of a run down gym, when his salvation came, in the form of the strawberry blonde man striding towards them, looking as if he had a purpose.

The young man stopped a few feet from Faith.

"I'm Rich Redstone," he introduced himself. "I heard that you're looking for some self defense lessons for the young lady?"

* * * * *

Fred was extremely frustrated. Things were just not how they were supposed to be.

She has tried to have her talk with Cordelia. Cordelia was the heart. Cordelia was the glue. Cordelia was the one that was supposed to hold things together.

But was that heart doing its job? No. Cordelia refused to even speak to Wesley. No one would speak to him.

At the same time, though, could Fred really blame anyone else for what was going on without taking some of the blame on herself? It's not like Fred had tried to talk to him herself.

Fred knelt on the floor, leaning back from her scrubbing, and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

How in the world was she going to put her family back together? At this point, she couldn't even clean the lobby floor.

*****

Wes sat on the bench and watched Faith spar with her new "self defense instructor".

The former, and, with the return of Faith, once again watcher was impressed by how well Faith had done with keeping up her slaying abilities and reflexes while in prison. It couldn't have been an easy thing for her to do.

But she was out there, sparing like a pro. In fact, she was being a little overzealous. Wes was sure that he gentleman with her now would soon become suspicious.

"Faith," he rasped, trying to get her attention. His voice was rusty enough that he had to call out to the dark slayer another couple of times before she heard him.

She pushed a stray curl out of her face as she turned, and the movement strained the already taught fabric of her t-shirt, and Wesley felt his mouth go dry.

It took him a minute to remember what it was he wanted, and then he summoned her over.

"What's the what, watcher man?"

"It's good that you kept up with your calisthenics while you were away, Faith, but I am quite sure that you are making that young man suspicious."

"One, less words. You should be resting that voice." When he went to interrupt her, Faith cut him off with the hand movement he was beginning to learn meant that the girl would not accept any arguments.

"And two . . . "

Before she could finish the sentence, the young man who she had been training with appeared behind Faith.

He ran a hand through his strawberry blonde curls as he looked at the conversing pair.

"What's up? Is there a problem?"

"No, Mr. Redstone. No problem at all. I was just discussing with Faith . . . "

"How she was being too tough and she should tone it down a bit? It's okay, she told me." Wesley turned to Faith, shocked that she would reveal such a thing to a complete stranger, when he continued. "You her parole officer or something?"

"Her parole . . . ? Faith!" Wesley was relieved that Faith had not revealed her status as a slayer, but was still surprised that she would have brought up her time in prison.

"What? I was in the joint. I did good! I did my time, paid the price, etc. What's to be ashamed?" She turned to the man who stood beside her. "He's not my P.O." she told him with a snicker, "Thank the gods! He's more of a mentor, kind of, I guess."

Wes looked at the exchange, feeling lost, and tried to question the slayer again. "Faith! Don't you think . . .?"

"Wes, he noticed I was a bit further along then self defense, so I told him why I was so tough." She looked back at Rich. "Gotta learn quickly to take care of yourself in jail, or someone else will try to do the job for you."

She turned back to her watcher, thankful for the look of comprehension that was starting to filter into Wes's eyes. "So, since I don't need self defense, Rich is going to teach me to kickbox!"

"Yeah, Faith told me about her martial arts background. With that, it shouldn't take her long."

"Well, that might be beneficial, for you to have some structure and discipline, considering." Wes looked towards the window at the now setting sun. "But we should perhaps continue this another day? It looks to be about time to head out. And we have a conversation to finish."

"I guess you're right, wa . . .Wes. Thanks Rich. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Whenever you can, drop back in. Nice to meet you Faith, Wesley."

"You as well, Mr. Redstone." Wesley stood up, and shook the young man's hand.

"Rich, please. Well, I'll see you both again." He shot a glance at Faith. "Soon, I hope? Take care out there, it's almost dark."

With that cryptic parting comment, Rich Redstone turned and headed for his office.

Faith looked at the mess of books and papers still spread around Wes and bent to gather them up.

"C'mon and help pick this up, watcher boy. We have a talk that needs having."


	9. Facing Demands

A/N Hope you guys are all still reading this. Aren't real life and grown up responsibilities so much fun? I promise I'll try to better in the future. And I am reposting this chapter after fixing the formatting and the typos, which I did at work with a tool better suited than notepad!

Facing Demands

**************

Gunn glared at his "boss" from across the room, unbelieving of the situation that they were now in. The young man could not believe that Angel had put them in this position in the first place, never mind that he was now risking Fred's life by preventing Gunn from taking her to the hospital.

Fred could die and it would be Angel's fault.

Gunn looked at the girl he had fallen for, the girl he . . . he couldn't lose her. He wouldn't lose her. And he has a good idea who would know how to save her. He just needed to find a way to get there. 

And when Groo started to hack into the ballroom floor, he provided just the sort of distraction that Gunn needed.

*****

Wes stepped off of the back of his bike, and accepted the helmet that Faith held out to him as she shook out her hair.

He really only used to use the bike when he needed to clear his head and feel empty. Feel free. But then Connor happened, and the bike was once again his only vehicle, as it had been when he had ridden it into Los Angeles. And riding it now had taken on quite a different meaning. Especially with Faith on its back with him, wrapped around him. It turned the whole thing into something else entirely. It was no longer a place to escape the demons that chased him. But it was still a place that he wanted to be. Perhaps too much. And therein lay the problem.

These thoughts occupied the former watcher's mind as they made their way back up to his apartment

It wasn't until they reached their destination that he recalled exactly the reason for the trepidation that he felt running through his body.

Once the door that was now before him opened, and the pair passed through it, what would follow could send Faith running from him, abandoning her search for redemption. When she discovered that her chosen leader down that road had done irreprehensible things, things that even she, at her worst, would not have even thought of doing, what would she do? Would she turn from this path that she had set herself on? Would she leave him?

Wesley was shocked at the pang in his heart at the thought.

*****

Once in the apartment, Faith began nervous preparations for tea. She hurried around the kitchen much like she had that first night.

It wasn't that she didn't want to hear what her watcher had to say. In fact, there was nothing she could think of that she wanted to hear more.

But it was his hesitation that affected her nerves, that prompted the agitated movements that propelled her around the kitchen. Whatever it was that he had to tell her, he was scared of it.

In fact, Faith was quite sure that he was terrified.

It was that that made her nervous. She was reacting to his feelings. She wasn't sure why she was doing it, though and it unnerved her.

Deciding that she was acting like a silly teenager and not liking it at all, Faith left the kettle to boil on the stove and went to the living room, where Wesley was rummaging around his desk. She assumed that he was trying to find the words to say what he needed to tell her.

"Wes?" She said as she approached, wanting to alert him to her presence. He turned to face her, abandoning the pointless shuffling that he had been doing with the papers on his desk.

She grabbed at his arm and dragged him over to the couch, pushing him to sit on the piece of furniture. She did it gently, but with enough force that he could broach no argument.

She sat on the table, facing him, seeing him slightly wince at the action. She half smiled at the look. No matter how much he had changed since that day back in the library at Sunnydale High, he was still always going to have that streak of British propriety running through him.

She put the thought aside and looked into her watcher's eyes.

"Listen, I know that whatever you have to tell me is hard. It's tough, and it cost you everything, and you think it's horrible. But it can't be worse that cold blooded murder. It can't. So tell me. Because I am not going anywhere. I've murdered people. In cold blood. And I tortured you." Wesley went to speak at that, but she stopped him. "But you haven't turned me away. There's nothing you can say that will make me leave. You're stuck with me, you know. I'm your slayer. That's not going to change." And that's when she began to wonder if he really wanted her there. What if he wanted her to go? "Unless, of course, you want me to leave . . ." Wesley shook his head at that, and she let out her held breath. '"Good, because I ain't that easy to get rid of."

She watched as a small measure of relief drifted into his eyes

"So, c'mon watcher man. Tell me what I want to hear?"

And, as Wesley opened his mouth to speak, two things happened at once. The kettle whistled loudly and a loud pounding began on his door.

*****

Gunn stood there, facing the door he thought he would never see again. In fact, he almost turned away now.

If it wasn't for the thought that Wesley could help Fred, that Gunn was sure that his former friend was her only shot, he would have been walking away right now, his patience at waiting for his knock to be answered wearing thin. He knew that the man was there. He had heard the kettle whistle and then stop. 

In fact, Gunn was just about to knock again, or just kick the door in, when it was suddenly yanked inward.

And there Wesley stood, looking as though he had trod through hell and had yet to make it back. He looked rough.

And once upon a time, Gunn would have cared. 

Once.

But not now. Now he had other concerns.

The powerful street fighter strode past Wesley and into the apartment with barely a glance at the man.

"I need your help."

*****

Faith couldn't believe the nerve of this guy. Gunn. Charles.

The man couldn't even come inside the hospital that first day. He didn't even care that Wesley, a man he had called friend, had nearly died.

And now he was here, in Wesley's apartment, asking, no, make that demanding, his help.

How in the world did he figure that he had that right? After all, not one of those people had even made a phone call to check on Wesley since Faith had been with him. Not one. Not even Cordelia, who used to fall all over him, to Faith's recollection. None of them.

Faith so wanted to storm out into the living room, pick the guy up by whatever appendage she could get her hands on, and physically throw him out of the apartment. The muscles in her ached for it, tried to drive her towards just such an action.

But she stayed where she was. Where Wesley had put her after they had seen to the screaming kettle. There had been a silent pleading in his eyes for her to remain silent, to stay hidden, a secret. At least for now. Good thing he didn't know that Gunn had already met his "cousin", and wouldn't have been all that surprised to see her here.

It was one of the hardest things that she had ever had to do in her life, to stay there, fighting her instincts, and just listen. It didn't even occur to her to wonder why she was that protective of Wesley. He was her watcher, she his slayer. That's just the way it worked. At least that's what she told herself as she continued to listen to the event unfolding in the living room.

A/N I know, I know! You guys want to know how he'll tell her, but my muse just wanted me to drag it out a little longer. :) Maybe if you feed the feedback monster, it'll help? It's worth a try.


	10. Hiding in Plain Sight

A/N Okay, I had almost a whole damn chapter ready, when my computer ate it. Normally, I'd just type it again, but the whole piece with episode dialogue I wrote on the spot, so I have to start over. Hope it comes out as well as the one the computer ate!! Grr. And with all the Wes/Faith inspiration lately, my muse seems to have come back with a force, so I hope to update more often.   
  
Hiding in Plain Sight   
****************   
  
The young man who was once his friend, the man he had taken a bullet for, stood in Wesley's apartment and glared, demanding things that Wes would have given him freely, just days ago.And he would have done it with no expectations of anything in return. That's the way it had been with them. That was how friends worked. He would have forgiven them anything. At least he had thought so.   
Anything but abandoning him without a second thought, taking the side of the man, no, vampire, that had tried to smother him.They had gone against him without even bothering to find out why he had done what he had done   
And here Gunn stood, asking for his help. Demanding it.   
"Look, I don't have time to get into it with you. I don't even want to be here.The hotel is infested with something. Some kind of slug, jellyfish type thing. We don't know what they are,"   
Wes couldn't stand there and look at Gunn while he reinforced Wes's knowledge that a dire situation had forced him her. That nothing else could have. And, as he had done when he was having trouble facing Faith, Wesley tried to retreat to his books. Try as he might, he could not stop himself from listening to Gunn's words as the young man kept speaking   
"or how to kill him."   
But he could feign nonchalance, couldn't he?   
His voice, though used earlier to speak with Faith, still rasped with his injury. "Well, now, that is a problem."   
Gunn continued, "These things, there's hundreds of them.They get inside and suck up the moisture out of your whole body.They eat you alive."   
Wesley fiddled with a book, trying to appear as if he didn't care, his mind already trying to solve the problem."Why come to me? I'm sure Angel will figure out a way to kill them eventually." And Wes was sure he would. The vampire was highly intelligent, if nothing else.   
"That's not what I'm looking for," Gunn responded, his frustration and barely reigned in anger evident in his voice. "I need to know how to get these slugs out of someone who's infected, force it out somehow."   
"Wish I could help." The solution to that was simple. Fred, with her physicist mind, should have it figured out by the time Gunn got back to the hotel. The answer was apparent to Wesley before Gunn had even finished his description of how these creatures killed.   
"Wes . . ."   
"Sorry you wasted your time."   
At Gunn's next words, Wesley couldn't keep his back turned.   
"It's Fred."   
As Wesley turned to face the other man, his eyes caught sight of the thing that would give him the will to finish this conversation with Gunn.   
His Slayer.   
His.   
He didn't have time to think about the pride, and the deliberate thump of his heart, that he felt at that word. His.   
She was standing by the bathroom where he had put her when Gunn had pounded on the door. She was mostly hidden from view, but her eyes had searched for his, concern for what she was hearing evident in them. There was also a question in them, a question of whether or not she should come out and remove the person that was, at this moment, causing him distress.   
He shook his head, almost imperceptibly.To see it, you would have had to have been looking, as she has been And the answer was in his eyes as well. He would handle it. But her being there was helping him, all the same. She had seen that in his eyes, too.   
* * * * *   
She had only been listening to Gunn with half an ear. more concerned with her watcher, who was looking distressed, than with events Angel was more than capable of handling. Wes had turned his back on the young warrior and retreated to his books, as the other man droned on about the problem back at the hotel.   
And Wes seemed as disinterested as she was. Their problem, not ours, she thought. But the moments the words passed Gunn's lips, Wes couldn't fake his nonchalance any longer. And she knew it.   
"It's Fred."   
It was those words that prompted Wes to turn and face Gunn, but as he did, his eyes strayed to hers, and she willed him to read her thoughts in them. 'I'll back you up. Whatever you decide.'   
  
* * * * *   
  
She couldn't believe Gunn. Of all the things that she has seen, done, fought, been, the toughest thing that she had ever had to to do was stand there and listen to this man, knowing his words were cutting deeper than the wound on Wes's throat.   
Did this man, a man who, from her less then deeply personal visits with Wes, she knew to have been Wes's closest friend, really not know the watcher who stood in front of him at all?   
She peered into the room from her hiding spit, saw Wes walk over to the liquor cabinet, and knew immediately what he was doing.   
"What, we're going to have a drink now?" Gunn sounded incredulous. "Did you hear what I said? She's dying!"   
The words made her realize that the street kid could have never really known Wesley. How could he, and not know what was instantly obvious to Faith? That the bottle had to be the cure?   
Her watcher's next words nailed Faith to the floor, when she would have charged into the other room to remove Gunn from the apartment. They stunned her into immobility, and even forced all thought from her mind.   
"I was dying, throat cut, life pouring out of me. Know why I fought to live again?"   
"Wes, I don't have time for . . . "   
She couldn't believe Gunn had interrupted Wes when he was talking about this, of all things. 'Shut up', her mind screamed, trying to spur her body into action. But Wesley continued talking, the rasp of his voice holding her entranced once again.   
"I wanted to live. To see my friends again. To explain to the people I loved and trusted, my side of what happened."   
Gunn spoke again with certainty in his words. "We know what happened."   
Faith knew less about the events than Gunn did, but the slayer just knew that she knew more about the truth behind them. Gunn sounded so bitter.   
She wanted the black man gone, before she hurt him. And, as Wesley threw the bottle at him with his next words, it appeared the watcher was ready for him to leave as well.   
"You don't know anything. I'll help because it's Fred."   
That wasn't true. He'd help because of who he was. Because he was Wesley. He had helped her, she remembered, to escape the clutched of the council. And he had done it even after she had tortured him. He wasn't helping just because it was Fred who needed help, but because someone did. Period. If Gunn had been such a good friend to Wesley, how could he not know that? She had been his enemy, but she knew. SHe had used it against him with Cordelia.   
"But don't come here again. Any of you."   
Faith stood there while Gunn left and her watcher locked the door behind him. She stood, trying to hear over the blood rushing in her ears, pounding there with the adrenaline that made her heart beat.   
She was still standing there when Wes appeared before her, a line of concern drawn between his brows.   
"He's gone. You can come out now."   
She mentally shook herself, trying to focus on the man before her, instead of the anger at the man that had just left.   
"We still need to have that talk, Faith." 


	11. The Story Revealed

A/N I noticed as I went to post this that it has been over FOUR MONTHS since I updated this fic. I feel horrible about that, I really do. Just know that I have not abandoned the fic. I've been working on a film that has kept me very busy as of late. If you want to know more about it, check out www.theevilwithin.com. I also seem to have had my muse busy working on that film, and have had a hard time coaxing it to write some Wes/Faith. But, after typing in this chapter, I have a feeling that my muse might be coming back. Hope someone is still reading this.

The Story Revealed

****************

The tension was palpable. Faith could feel it in the air, taste it on her tongue.

She felt like time had slowed down, or maybe even stopped completely. 

She held her breath, waiting for the words that would come. Words said in a raspy voice, a voice abused by the recent attack on its owner. A voice full of the emotion that was sure to be there, if the look on her watcher's face told her anything.

And it did. She could read on his face things she would have had to be told to know of in other people. She could read in his eyes the turmoil that he felt in his head, in his heart. Why could she do that? Was it another watcher/slayer connection that she hadn't been good enough to make before now? Could Buffy read Giles like this?

The thought was nothing more than fleeting. There were more pressing matters on Faith's mind.

Such as how to get that look out of Wesley's eyes, the one that told her that he was terrified of what would happen in the next few minutes. Of how his words would affect her. They showed how he thought that she would leave. She wondered what it was he had done that he thought was so terrible.

But it really didn't matter. Nothing he could say would drive her away. After all of the things that she had done, a lot of them to him, and he hadn't turned his back on her.

He had been there. Lately, in the past year, he had been there more than Angel had.

She would do no less for him. He was her watcher. She _could do no less. The only thing that she was unsure of was how to let him know that._

She had told him in words, but that didn't seem enough somehow. He had told her he believed her, but in his eyes, she could still see the fear.

The fear that after he told her his story, she would leave. That she would be just like the others, and he would, once again, be left alone.

She reached out, squeezed his hand, and spoke again the words he needed to hear.

"I'm not leaving, watcher man, no matter what you say. So just say it. You'll feel better." She squeezed his hands again, forcing him to look in her eyes. And, she hoped, see the truth in them, as she could see with him.

He relaxed a fraction as he stared into her eyes, and something in them gave him the courage to speak.

"Well, it all started with a prophecy . . . "

'Doesn't it always?' Faith thought to herself. But she did not speak, not wanting to stop him after he started.

"It was only later that I found out that the prophecy was false."

*          *          *          *          *

It was hours later as Faith paced the length of the living room, lit only from the light filtering in through the window.

She glanced at her watcher, wondering if she should put him in his bed.

But she decided against it. It would be somewhat of a blow to his masculinity, she thought, to find he had been put to bed like a child. Especially by a woman, even if that woman was the slayer.

Well, _a_ slayer, anyways. _The_ Slayer was Buffy. Always was, always would be. Hell, blondie couldn't even stay dead.

But Faith was a slayer, and, more importantly, she was _his slayer. Wesley's slayer._

She looked at her watcher where he was asleep, sitting up. He had fallen into a fitful sleep when she had left the room to get him some water. It sat, untouched, on the table beside him.

He would need it when he woke up. 

Once he finally started talking Faith had been surprised by how much he had had to say. 

She had wondered at the change in her watcher, from the man she had once tortured into the man that he had become. But so much had happened.

In no longer surprised her, the drastic change in him. The events that he had lived through since she had last been free had been a lifetime's worth.

Several lifetimes, in fact.

He had been blown up, shot, had his throat slit. Lost his friends, his family, by doing the things that he thought were right. Their absence created a hole in his life. It was something that was still raw. She had seen that when Gunn was here.

It pained him more that the wound in his throat, the loss of them.

She had thought that they would get past it, one day. After all, if Angel had forgiven her . . .But then Wesley had told her about the hospital. About Angel's words, assuring the watcher that he was in his right mind, before he had covered Wesley's face with a pillow.

He had spoken of Fred's harsh, and heartbreaking, Faith knew, words to him. About never coming back. 

And it made her even angrier that Gunn had dared to come here for help. 

But Wesley had helped. Because that's who he was. Not because it was Fred, but because someone, it didn't matter who, was in trouble.

No matter what other damage they had done to Wesley by turning their backs on him, Angel's groupies hadn't stolen that goodness. The essence of Wesley. He would never let someone die if he could prevent it.

It's why he had done the things that he had done in the first place.

She couldn't believe they had turned on him, not listening to his side before they shut him out completely.

The dark slayer paced the apartment like a caged animal. Thinking about the things he had told her just made her angrier and angrier.

She glanced at Wesley again, seeing that he was still asleep. She didn't want to leave him, didn't want him to wake up, find her gone, and think that she, too, had turned her back on him.

But the anger in her was building. And she couldn't ignore it anymore. If she didn't do something with it soon, she would climb the walls. 

Or hurt the people who had hurt Wesley.

She had to go out on patrol, or she would go crazy.

She covered him with a blanket, slipped a pillow beneath his head, where it had fallen now to the arm of the couch. She swung his still shod feet around, placing them on the couch in an attempt to make him more comfortable.

She grabbed her weapons, threw on her jacket, and quietly left the apartment. But not before leaving a hastily scrawled note about performing her destined duty by his water where he would find it.

She had a deep seated need to kill something. To alleviate the frustration she had with the dramatic turn that her watcher's life had taken.


	12. Eyes in the Dark

A/N Sorry that I have once again taken forever and a day to update this fic. It just seems that my muses can't get a handle on it. I have a huge block on it of some sort. Just know that I keep plugging away at it, and am determined to finish it.

Eyes in the Dark

*******************

Lilah Morgan nearly cackled with glee as she read the contents of the folder her assistant had just handed her. However, since cackling maniacally was not dignified, and, as one of the few women in a position of power at Wolfram and Hart, she always had to be dignified, the attorney contented herself with a self satisfied smirk.

She knew that the surveillance that she had set up on the members of Angel's wonder team back when they resurrected Darla would be of benefit. The pay off may have been a long time in coming, but what a pay off it had ended up being.

She had been preparing to recruit Wyndam-Pryce for a while now, but his former friends were making it just too easy for her.

They had exiled him, one of their own. They were practically handing him to Wolfram and Hart on a platter. 

The senior partners had always wanted to turn a member of Angel Investigations, to take what they knew and use it against that person's old allies/

How much easier it would now be that Wesley Wyndam-Pryce had been ostracized by all those that he had known. Lilah had known that Angel would turn against him. The man had, after all, kidnapped the vampire's only child and lost him forever. But today Lilah had learned of the icing on the cake, of the thing that would ensure her success.

That pathetic little Winifred. The hick that Wesley pined for. Even she had turned her back on him. 

They were the only people the man had, and they were gone. He was alone. Lilah would be able to lure him to their side in a matter of days.

She read over the file again, further formulating her plan of attack, when a small notation caught her eye. 

"One female, brunette, early twenties, is now staying with Wyndam-Pryce. According to conversations overheard between Winifred Burkle and Charles Gunn, she is a cousin, Sarah Pryce. Will continue to investigate.

Lilah silently cursed, and not for the first time, the fact that whatever magical wards the man had placed on the apartment negated any listening devices that they tried to plant there. They would have to get more inventive, and find away to get past those wards. Lilah wanted to know who this new obstacle was. They didn't even have a decent surveillance picture of her.

Not that it mattered. Lilah wanted him. And whatever Lilah Morgan wanted, Lilah Morgan got.

*           *           *           *           *

Lindsey McDonald pace in his shabby motel room.

The last thing that he had wanted to do was spend a prolonged amount of time in L.A. He was only supposed to be around long enough to get the girl out of prison, and then her presence in Wyndham-Pryce's life would take care of the rest.

Of course, he should have known that Lilah would throw a wrench into things. Lilah Morgan had been the bane of his existence during his time at Wolfram and Hart. He wasn't at all surprised that even now, when he managed to escape to law firm with his life and just a tiny sliver of his soul, the woman continued to be a thorn in his side.

He had been almost certain that when Lilah learned that Wyndham-Pryce, although abandoned by his friends, was not as alone as she would have liked, the attorney would have backed off to regroup.

Lindsey knew that Lilah had been planning to work her feminine wiles on the Englishman as a part of her bid to turn him against Angel Investigations. And Lindsey's nemesis did like to think of herself as the femme fetale, complete with the hair and demeanor from a 1940's film noir. She didn't even mind if her games of seduction included some friendly competition. However, like any good Wolfram and Hart employee, Lilah Morgan rarely ever entered a game where she couldn't be guaranteed a win. This was especially true when something personal was at stake. In this case, of course, it was her ego. 

Surprisingly though, considering the unknown to Lilah woman involved in the equation, the viper had yet to back off, leaving Lindsey to ponder his next course of action. 

If Lilah hadn't backed off, she was far more determined that Lindsey would have thought her to be, at least with this approach. It wasn't as if she had no other recourse for turning a member of Angel's team against him. After all, there was an angle that she could use to work turning every one of them.

There must have been something more going on. Whatever it was, Lilah wasn't giving up. She was even, it seemed, going to go all out and play the seductress to turn the former watcher.

At that thought, Lindsey wondered the fact that Wyndham-Pryce had once been a watcher was the driving force behind Lilah's determination. It would be quite a coup, after all, if Lilah could turn a white hat, and a watcher, at that. It would solidify her power base at Wolfram and Hart, and impress the senior partners.

However, as far as Lindsey was concerned, her hanging in with the tenacity of a pit-bull was a very bad thing indeed.

If the presence of another female in Wesley's life didn't deter Lilah, or if Faith was not enough of a cause for the watcher to throw Lilah as far away from himself as he could get her, Lindsey McDonald would be in very deep trouble indeed.

If Lilah wasn't going to give up, then she would be more tenacious about discovering the identity of the women who was now sharing living quarters with Wolfram and Hart's target. It wouldn't be very long at all before Lilah realized it was Faith, and even less time if she took to spying on Wesley herself.

Lindsey could never let that happen. It was why he was still in L.A. when he had been planning to leave as soon as Faith had been released.  It was why he was camped out in a cheap motel room, hoping against hope that Wolfram and Hart wouldn't find him there.

They always had an eye on the register of any respectable hotel, but the investigators of the firm steered clear of the rat traps until they needed to find someone specific.

Which they would, if Lilah discovered Faith. The attorney was far more intelligent than Lindsey would have liked to give her credit for. She might not even need to talk to Faith to deduce that Lindsey had been responsible for her freedom. After all, he had been the one in charge of her defense before he had gained his own freedom. And helping her, an enemy of Wolfram and Hart, would be seen as a blatant act of hostility. And he would be dealt with as all such problems were dealt with. He would be eliminated.

As much as Lindsey was against Wolfram and Hart winning this battle, he was no where near enough committed to the side of good that he was prepared to die for it, even if by his death he would be the savior of the earth itself.

If that meant that Faith had to be out of the picture so that Lindsey would be safe, than he would make sure that that happened. 

The phone rang with a jarring shrillness, reminding him that he still had a person or two in his pocket. But they would be of no help to him if he made the firm's hit list. They were, after all, the type of men that would sell their own mothers.

Lindsey reached for the phone with his right hand, a permanent reminder of the power and corruption of Wolfram and Hart.  The ringing of the phone ceased as he held the receiver to his ear, although the ringing in his head seemed to be just as loud. He hoped that, whoever the caller might be, it would be good news.

"Yeah?" he questioned, the word a demand.

"Faith just left the Brit's. Looks like she's going hunting. Thought that it might be a good time for you to talk to her."

Lindsey hung up the phone with no further comment, grabbing up his keys and heading outside, hoping that talking would do the trick. He didn't think that he had the taste for murder, and he hoped that tonight would not be the night that he had to find out.


	13. Still of the Night

A/N: I am so, so, so sorry for the delay in the updating of this story. I hope that there are people out there that are still reading it.

Thank you very much for the wonderful and supportive reviews. I really intend on finishing this story, no matter how long it may take me. But as I finally have the season 3 DVDs, I think it will move much quicker now.

I'm also shopping for a beta, so let me know if you are interested.

Still of the Night

Faith walked down the dark L.A. streets, twirling a stake in on hand and thinking, something anyone who had met her since she left Boston might be surprised that she actually did. After all, a girl who lived by the motto "want, take, have" never really thought about anything for more than a minute. That kind of girl always lived for the moment. That kind of girl could never be found wandering down a dark street, contemplating her life.

But here she was, the 'other' slayer, pondering thoughts far heavier than one might think she was capable of having. At the moment, Faith found herself reflecting on her life, taking an account of the events that brought her here. In particular, she was thinking about Sunnydale.

Her thoughts had turned to that part of her life after she had dusted the only vamp that she'd come across since leaving Wesley's. She had wanted a knock-down, drag-out fight, something to get her mind off of things. She'd vaguely wished L.A. was more like Sunnydale. If you had wanted action in that town, it was always easy to find.

After that thought had passed through her mind, she found herself remembering her time spent on the Hellmouth.

She wondered if she would do things differently if given the chance. Or if things would have been different had she not been trying so hard to be accepted, while at the same time being her own worst enemy in that endeavor.

Faith had been looking for a place to fit in, a place where she felt she belonged. But Faith also needed to be accepted for who she was, something her mother had never done, especially after her first watcher had shown up.

If anything, her mother had taken that event as an excuse to finally be rid of the daughter she had never really wanted, handing Faith over without questions or reservations to a perfect stranger.

And although the thought seemed horrible to someone who hadn't been there, Faith actually thought that her mother turning over the job of raising her to her watcher was the best thing her mother ever done for her.

And then Faith had gone and gotten her watcher killed, and the young slayer was abandoned again. A misfit again.

Her watcher had always told Faith about Sunnydale, about the Hellmouth and it's legendary slayer Buffy.

Buffy had always sounded like someone Faith thought she could get along with. The girl defied convention, broke rules, and refused to adhere to any of the Watcher's Council's edicts.

The girl hadn't even stayed dead, and with her survival had shattered the whole notion of "one girl in all the world." Of course, Kendra had stayed dead, her passing setting into motion the chain of events that had led Faith to Sunnydale.

The newly called slayer had thought that if there was anywhere that she was sure to be accepted after her watcher's death, it was in the town of the slayer who refused to follow any rules.

Little had Faith known that the girl had a set of rules all her own. That the only rules that Buffy broke were the ones that didn't suit her. In some things she was even more uncompromising than the stodgy Englishmen that Buffy was so disdainful of.

To Buffy, black was black, white was white, good very good and evil very bad. Laws were to be upheld no matter what. And you should never, ever enjoy your sacred duty. A slayer's calling was something to bear. A great weight to be carried with quiet solemnity. A slayer should never enjoy the power that she held, and she should never, ever relish her destiny.

So instead of the acceptance that Faith had been expecting, that she had been hoping for, that she had been craving, the dark slayer had found in Buffy someone that just didn't understand her. Buffy couldn't grasp how Faith could enjoy the role that they had been given. She couldn't see how Faith could find anything good at all about being a slayer.

Not only couldn't Buffy understand Faith's ease and acceptance of her new calling, but she wouldn't even try to see things from Faith's point of view. The one time that it looked as if Buffy was warming to Faith's philosophy had ended in disaster and death. The night of the accident with the deputy mayor was when it truly hit home to Faith that she would never find acceptance in Sunnydale.

At least not with the Scoobies.

That's why it had been so easy for her to side with Wilkins. He accepted her unconditionally. He had even seemed to love her, in his own strange way. He gave to Faith what it was she was so desperately craving. That had meant more to Faith then the fact that he was evil. It allowed her to convince herself that the side she had chosen was okay, because that side had chosen her right back.

This was precisely what she was mulling over, whether or not being accepted by the Scoobies for who she was instead of being rejected because she didn't conform to there idea of a slayer would have been the thing that had kept her from turning to Wilkins, when the little hairs on the back of Faith's neck found themselves standing at attention.

Faith knew that had never meant something good. Also, it usually meant that someone was watching her.

The dark slayer cursed herself for letting her attention wane at all. It wasn't like her to get distracted by her own thoughts. It was just this whole deal with Wesley. She couldn't help but feel at fault for at least some of what had happened. If she had been a proper slayer, Wesley would have still been her watcher, and he wouldn't have gotten involved in the big old Angel-baby mess. It was eating away at her. And distracting her.

Then again, if Wes had still been her watcher, then he probably wouldn't have become the man he was now. Faith couldn't prevent an image of the was she was getting to know from popping up in her head. He was so different than he was before. He was guarded, quiet, unkempt, and sexy as . . .she shook her head vehemently banishing the image. She shouldn't be thinking these things about her watcher, for her watcher again he was, in the best of circumstances. And she certainly shouldn't be letting her thoughts stray in that direction when she was on patrol. And being watched.

Watched and followed.

For now that Faith was once again focused she could sense that whatever it was that had been watching her was now nearly directly behind her, about to grab her shoulder.

Spinning around, she grabbed the outstretched limb with one hand while raising her stake with the other.

Her assailant immediately held out his hands in a placating gesture, trying to show her that he wasn't a threat. "Hold on there, Faith. I'm not a bloodsucker."

She dropped his arm and turned her back to him, letting him know that she didn't regard him as a threat at all, and he didn't know whether to be offended or relieved. "I wouldn't count on that, Lindsey. You are a lawyer, after all." She glanced at him sideways when he finally caught up to her. "What the hell do you want anyways? I thought that you had left town. Sneaking up on a slayer isn't so good for your health, Lin."

"I was willing to take the risk." He laid a hand on her shoulder, halting her steps, and turned her slightly to face him. "You and I need to have a talk."

"We've talked all we ever need to, cowboy." She shrugged his hand off and walked away, but his next words stopped her dead.

"It's about Wesley."


End file.
